Second Chance
by Evandar
Summary: When Yami passes into the afterlife, Bakura's soul is dragged with him. But instead of passing on completely, the gods offer them the chance at a second life. BakuraRyou, YamiYugi yaoi
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I do not own YuGiOh!

AN: This is set after the end of the series and therefore contains spoilers for the whole thing. It's also based off the manga. Also...the names of the Egyptian gods might be a bit different from what you're used to since I'm using the Egyptian forms rather than the more commonly known Greek.

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Second Chance

by Evandar

Part 1

Duat

White light engulfed him, and searing agony shot through him. Deep inside of the Ring, Bakura cringed and clenched his teeth to suppress a scream. Then, just as suddenly as the light had appeared, it left. He sat crouched for a moment, before lifting his head to look around, only to find that he was no longer in his Soul Room.

He was sitting on a dock. Small black waves were lapping at the wooden posts behind him, though most of the water was hidden in thick mist. It was cold, and Bakura found himself huddling into the folds of his…robe? He looked down at himself and blinked in surprise. He was dressed in a loincloth and shenti, with a red woollen robe over his shoulders. His feet were clad in leather sandals held together with bronze studs. His skin was tanned, his hands were calloused, and when he raised a hand to his face, he could feel the shiny-smooth texture of scar tissue under his fingertips.

His soul had taken the shape of his original body.

He stood slowly and looked around the dock, peering through thick shadows in search of anyone else. He knew that he was dead: that was the only way he'd take the form of his original body, and he knew that the only way he could get to the afterlife was if the Pharaoh had decided to kick the bucket as well, but it didn't look like the Pharaoh was there.

Bakura resisted the urge to kick something, instead choosing to huddle deeper into his robe. Was this dock for the commoners then? Or the sinners? He shivered – not entirely from the cold – and tried not to think of the stories he had heard of the afterlife during his childhood, or even the ones that his host had read when he had been the spirit of the Ring. There was no way that his heart would be lighter than the feather of Ma'at. No way at all.

He really, really didn't want to think of spending eternity in the stomach of Ammit.

So he stood and waited. He didn't know how long he waited, or what he was waiting for, but he waited. He watched and listened to the black waves of the river? Sea? Ocean? Lake? They were the only thing to watch and listen to since he was the only one on the dock, and most of that was obscured by shadow.

He tried, once, to summon his ka to him – Diabound – but there was no response; just a pang of something where his heart should have been. He tried to call out to his host, but there was nothing other than an overwhelming silence. He really was all alone. There was no way for him to escape.

'And even if,' he thought, 'Ryou had replied, would he have helped?'

He felt a surge of loathing rise up inside of him, though he wasn't sure if it was for Zorc or himself for not fighting the damn thing off. He kicked one of the wooden posts in anger, the low thud of his foot against the post sounding incredibly loud, but there was still no response. He sat, slumping to the wooden decking, his legs folded underneath him, and waited.

What felt like hours passed, and nothing changed, but then Bakura heard a change in the rhythmic lapping of the water. He lifted his head and stared out over the black waters. Nothing, nothing but the sound of waves and the sound of something splashing through them.

Then, out of the mist, the prow of a boat loomed. Bakura gulped nervously and stood. His legs were shaking, and he growled at himself for showing that sign of weakness. He forced himself to remain calm as the boat swung round, presenting him with a view of its side. He could see the forms of people on the boat, mostly obscured by shadow. He shivered: he could feel them watching him.

A scraping sound, and a gangplank was pushed over the side of the boat to rest on the dock. Bakura steeled himself, and placed one leather-clad foot on the wooden board. It didn't give way. He walked up it, moving as quickly as he could in case they changed their minds and tried to dump him in the water. They didn't.

Once he was on board, a shadowy figure drew the gangplank back into the boat and they set sail again, vanishing back into the mist. He twisted round to look back at the dock, and watched as the mist took it from his view.

Lanterns sparked, shimmering white lights lighting their course through the darkness. He looked round at his fellow passengers: those towering, shadowy figures that watched him in the darkness. Looking at them, he found himself wishing that they'd left the lights off.

Illuminated by the lanterns' glow, the towering figures showed themselves to be gods. Heru, decked out in fine linens and shimmering gold stood to Bakura's left, watching him over the cruelly sharp beak of a falcon. Under the shelter, Bakura caught a glimpse of an old man clad in fine linens. His wrinkled skin shone like silver and gold eyes stared back at him from under a huge bronze headdress shaped like the sun. Re. When Bakura turned to look at the prow of the boat, he saw the huge, muscled figure of Setekh: his square-tipped ears facing forwards and his spear gripped in his strong fingers. The chaos god turned to look back at him, and Bakura shivered as glowing red eyes met his gaze. Setekh was the one god he'd ever truly had respect for.

He found a seat and sat, huddling into the shadows of the belly of the boat. No wonder they had stared at him: true gods coming to face with a blasphemer. He'd done the work of Zorc – unwillingly to be true, but he'd still done it – and that made him a heretic in their eyes.

Ammit would get a meal out of him to be sure.

They sailed on through the darkness, and on, until the boat turned again. Bakura looked up, and peered over the side of the boat as Heru readied his gangplank again.

It was another dock. This one, unlike the one Bakura had become so familiar with, was beautifully ornate. It was decorated in gold leaf and carvings of the gods. Hieroglyphs were carved on the pillars, and fine purple drapes provided its sole occupant with a luxurious canopy.

Bakura's eyes narrowed. He would recognise that hair anywhere. The Pharaoh had received special treatment after all.

The boat docked, and the gangplank was lowered. Bakura saw the Pharaoh look up sharply at the sound it made, and he felt slightly relieved to see fear flicker through his enemy's dark red eyes. At least he wasn't alone in this.

Then, the Pharaoh stood and approached, looking for all the world like he owned the damn place. But Bakura could see the slight tremors in his hands, giving his terror away. He leaned back into the shadows some more as the Pharaoh stepped down into the boat. Bakura let his gaze travel enviously over the rich papyrus sandals and gold anklets that the Pharaoh was wearing, before looking away. It wouldn't do to steal anything while on a boat filled with gods.

But he could look, he supposed. He was still a thief after all.

He watched as the Pharaoh looked around, badly hiding his fear behind bravado. He watched as he sank slowly into a seat on the other side of the boat, further towards Re than where Bakura was hiding. The Pharaoh clenched his fists on his knees, trying to stop his hands from shaking, and Bakura looked away, snuggling deeper into the folds of his robe.

He wondered if the Pharaoh would pass the test; if his heart would be lighter than the Feather of Truth. The Pharaoh was a goody-goody – nothing like Bakura at all – but he was still a sinner. He'd still used the items, crushed the minds of his opponents, murdered…true, it was all in the name of justice and to protect his host, but it had still happened.

Heru drew the gangplank back onto the boat once more, and they set off again. Bakura closed his eyes and listened as the boat travelled through the darkness. The only sounds were the sounds of the waves against the sides of the boat and its oars, and the gentle creaking of the sails – Bakura wondered why they were creaking when there was no wind, but he decided not to question. It wouldn't do to draw attention to the heretic on board.

Then, the rhythm of the waves changed again. Bakura cracked his eyes open and looked towards the front of the boat. He saw the thick muscles in Setekh's back tense, saw him shift his grip on his spear, just before a monstrous shape loomed out of the mist.

Bakura had previously thought that Zorc was the ugliest thing he'd ever set eyes on, but in that one moment he was proved wrong. The shape that rose up out of the water was a huge, hideous serpent. It was covered in thick, ridged scales that gleamed blackly in the light from the lanterns. Huge yellow eyes stared down at them, and Bakura recognised the true evil in their depths. The serpent opened its mouth revealing long yellowed fangs dripping with slick green venom that hissed and spat as it dripped onto the wood of the boat.

It lunged, and for one terrible moment, Bakura thought that it was going to swallow the entire boat. Then Setekh moved, thrusting his spear arm forwards and up before twisting violently. A horrendous, blood-curdling hiss split the air, sounding almost like a scream, and the serpent drew back. The blood that splattered over the deck was black and shiny as oil and it burned as much as the venom had.

The serpent reared back, oily blood dripping from its gaping maw. At the prow of the boat, Setekh drew his lips back, revealing rows of needle like teeth that gleamed white in the lamplight. His square-tipped ears had flattened back against his skull, and the hand that was clenched around his spear was beginning to turn red as the blood that had dripped onto it began to burn him.

The serpent sank back into the water, defeated, and Bakura thought he heard Heru – still standing next to him – sigh faintly in relief.

His memory chose that moment to throw up the serpent's name, recalled from a half-forgotten myth he'd heard in his childhood. Apep: the god of chaos and evil.

He shivered and looked away from Setekh, who was now cleaning off and binding his wounded hand with strips of linen he'd torn from his own shenti. Instead, he looked up towards Heru, and found the god's eyes fixed on his comrade, an expression of something like relief on his beaked face.

Bakura had heard myths about the two of them warring against each other. He wondered, as he looked up at Heru, whether the priests had got it wrong.

The journey after that was quiet and brief. It wasn't long at all, in comparison to the wait on the dock, before they docked once more.

This new dock was made of stone. Its huge pillars rose up and up and vanished into the gloom. It was carved and painted with Hieroglyphs, and Bakura could see from the huge images that went with the glyphs that the words told stories of the gods. The Pharaoh, he noted, was puzzling at the Hieroglyphs, beginning to read them, and Bakura sneered at his back.

He, unlike the Pharaoh, had never had the chance to learn how to read. It was one of the things that he'd liked about Ryou's time: he'd had the chance to learn things that would have been restricted to priests when he had been alive.

He watched as the gods tied the boat to the dock and lowered the gangplank again. He watched as Re disembarked, his entourage following him, and vanished from sight. Heru went next, but he stopped and turned once on the dock instead of vanishing. He beckoned to them, and once the Pharaoh had passed him, Bakura slipped out of the shadows and straightened. He followed the Pharaoh silently down the gangplank, hyper-aware of the looming bulk of Setekh bringing up the rear behind him.

They walked silently through the halls of Duat – the land of the gods – the only noise the whispers of their footsteps over the stone floor. Bakura noted, with no small amount of glee, that he walked far more quietly than the Pharaoh, though he supposed he could blame that on his past career.

He kept his eyes forward, fixing his gaze on the back of the Pharaoh's spiky head. He didn't want to get distracted by the beautiful art on the walls and the tales it told; didn't want to lag behind. But at the same time, he didn't want to go forward. He didn't want to be devoured by Ammit. He didn't want to have to suffer an eternity in torment just because he'd been stupid enough to get himself possessed. He wanted to run, but he couldn't so he walked on and on and on, each step taking him closer to his fate.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer:** See the first chapter.

**AN:** The god names in this are based off the hieroglyphs rather than the more commonly known Greek, so I'll give you a translation list. Also, the vast majority of Ancient Egyptians did not wear clothes made of animal skins. Having Bakura in wool and leather is a sign that he is of a far lower social class than Yami.

Setekh - Seth

Heru - Horus

Yinepu - Anubis

Djehuty - Thoth

Auser - Osiris

Auset - Isis

Neb-het - Nephthys

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Second Chance

by Evandar

Part Two

Second Chance

He followed the Pharaoh, who was following Heru, through the halls of Duat and into a huge chamber. Painted walls and pillars soared upwards, vanishing beyond the light of the torches and into darkness. But it wasn't the size of the room that was intimidating. Lining those painted walls, their eyes glittering in the flickering torch light, were the gods. The true gods. Those he had betrayed and blasphemed against by doing the work of Zorc.

His eyes sought out the monstrous form of Ammit and Bakura shuddered violently. He was doomed.

The monster's eyes shone red and it strained at the chains binding it to the floor. Its nostrils flared, and Bakura knew – he just _knew_ – that it could smell his sins. Crocodile jaws snapped in his direction, and long claws were unsheathed from lion paws. Its powerful muscles rippled under its skin, and Bakura wondered how far he'd be able to get if he ran.

In front of him, the Pharaoh gave a little hiss of fear. Bakura couldn't even find it in himself to feel smug about that. He was terrified too.

He tore his gaze away from Ammit and looked to the gods standing next to it. He marvelled for a moment that they were able to stand so close to the monster without any fear, but then again, he supposed, they were gods. And they'd had millennia to get used to Ammit's presence.

Yinepu stood straight backed, his long, straight black hair hidden under a veil of faience beads that glittered like stars. He gave a jackal's smile, and long, white teeth gleamed. By his side, a wax tablet in his hands, stood Djehuty. He looked at them curiously, even though he was already poised to record their fates.

They, like the gods he had seen on the boat, were dressed in the finest of linens, papyrus sandals on their feet, and gold jewellery decorated with beads crafted from precious stones and faience. Though, Bakura noted, Djehuty wore less jewellery than the other gods he had seen – excluding Setekh. He wondered if it was personal preference.

"Welcome to the Hall of Judgement Pharaoh Atemu; Bakura of Kul Elna," Yinepu said. His voice was soft and harsh, as though he hadn't spoken for years and had become unused to it. His words were in Egyptian, and it took a while for Bakura's brain to register the use of his native language – he hadn't heard it spoken in so long. The Pharaoh seemed to have a similar problem, as it took a couple of seconds for him to round on Bakura, his features twisted in shock.

"You!" he gasped. "Don't you ever die?"

"Apparently, Your Highness, I do," Bakura growled. "Else I wouldn't be here with my heart about to be eaten, would I?"

The Pharaoh's mouth moved soundlessly for a moment, before he looked away. The gods, who'd witnessed their little display, looked amused.

'This is probably the most they'd had to do in centuries,' Bakura thought.

"We have seen your actions," Yinepu rasped, "from both before and after your deaths."

The Pharaoh tensed, and Bakura began to wonder what the heck was going on. Weren't people supposed to be judged separately? Why was Yinepu talking as if they were going to be judged together?

"The Sennen Items were never supposed to be created," Yinepu continued. "When they were, you were robbed of your true lives."

Say what?

"You were never given a chance to live, and so we cannot judge you."

Bakura felt faint. He almost sank to his knees then and there to praise them. Instead, he released a low, shuddering sigh of relief and managed, somehow, to remain on his feet. His knees felt like they had turned to jelly.

Yinepu had stopped talking, and Bakura almost felt like he should ask something, but he couldn't think of what. His thoughts were running a mile a minute, flashing through his brain far too quickly for him to grasp onto them and force them into coherency. He chose to remain silent, not wanting to burble like an idiot in front of people who could – and probably would – squash him like a bug.

The Pharaoh took a deep breath. "Then what is to become of us?" he asked, and though his voice was confident, his words were heavy with respect.

And, thankfully, his question had been a good one. Bakura wrapped his arms around his body, drawing his robes around him, and listened. The world suddenly seemed to be in much sharper focus.

"You will be sent back to earth," Heru said from where he stood next to them. Unlike Yinepu, his voice was smooth and rich like molten gold. Bakura got the impression that he was smiling. "You will be sent to modern day Japan, where you were living before the Items were destroyed."

The Pharaoh brightened. He stood straighter and his shoulders lifted slightly, and Bakura could just tell that he was dying to see his cheerleaders again, along with his other. The Pharaoh, no doubt, would be welcomed back among them with open arms.

He doubted it would be as easy for him.

"There will be, of course, rules," Djehuty said. His gaze was flickering from them to the wax tablet he was holding, and Bakura got the impression that he wasn't all that much of a public speaker. It was oddly endearing, and he could have sworn that Yinepu was looking at the ibis-headed god fondly.

He shook his head. He had to be imagining things.

"You are forbidden from using your Shadow powers," Djehuty continued. "You will both have to find gainful employment or enter into formal education. You will not steal, murder –" Bakura got the impression that most of this was being aimed at him "- crush the minds of your adversaries –" or maybe not "- or bring direct or intentional harm to anyone."

"Do you agree to these terms?" Those words were spoken by Setekh, in a deep voice that rumbled like thunder in his muscled chest. Bakura raised his head to look at the god: his square-tipped ears, his blood red fur and his gleaming needle teeth. Red eyes, burning with power, stared back down at him.

"I agree," he said. The words were out of his mouth before he could stop to think, but he knew that he meant them – heart and soul. After all, anything would be better than being devoured by Ammit, which was still straining at its chains and snarling furiously.

"I agree," the Pharaoh said a moment later.

"Then it is decided," a soft, whispery voice said. Bakura turned his gaze away from Setekh and watched as a man wrapped in bandages, supported by two beautiful women – sisters, by the looks of them, that radiated power and golden light – came forward. What little of the man's skin was on view looked green in the candlelight, and shrivelled.

He was Auser, Bakura realised; the women supporting him Auset and Neb-het.

He was looking at the King of the Underworld and his two sister-wives. He swallowed nervously. The power coming off the man was incredible, and even Ammit seemed to realise it as he quieted as Auser passed.

"You will return to the living world," Auser continued, his whispery voice rattling out of his desiccated throat. "You will live out your lives so that you may be judged upon your return to these halls."

The thought of having to come back to this place – this huge hall of painted stone filled with gods and goddesses and magic so powerful that it made his teeth ache – filled Bakura with dread. He couldn't help but think that no matter what he did, nothing would be able to erase the sins of his first life and his time in the Ring from their eyes and his own heart. He would be devoured. He knew it.

But…it was a chance that he couldn't turn down. He was being given a chance to live a Zorc free life, to learn, to try – try as hard as he could – to make it up to Ryou.

He suspected that that would be the hardest part of going back.

Ryou.

His other. His reincarnation, of sorts. The bearer of the Sennen Ring and the person who had been tortured by his Zorc possessed spirit.

Somehow, Bakura couldn't see him being pleased about Bakura's return.

He felt something jolt in his chest. His head shot up and he focussed on Auser. The dead god was looking at him; his withered lips were pulled back to reveal white teeth, cracking with the effort of smiling. There was another tug at his chest, as if someone had managed to place a hook around his heart and was trying to wrench the organ out through his ribs. He gasped, his head swam, and from the corner of his eye, he saw the Pharaoh fall to his knees, clutching at the material of his linen vest.

Bakura grit his teeth against the pain, and closed his eyes. He fought to stay on his feet – a matter of pride more than anything else – even as his limbs loosened, his joints turned to jelly, and pain seared through him.

Then, as suddenly as it had begun, it was all over.

Bakura took a slow, deep breath, and realised that he could smell rain and concrete and exhaust fumes. Cool droplets fell on his hair and skin and, keeping his eyes closed, he tilted his head back to let the rain bathe his face. Then, he opened his eyes to look up between the tall buildings at the grey sky. He was standing in an alleyway that he vaguely recognised as being half way between Ryou's apartment and the Kame Game Shop. The Pharaoh was kneeling on the ground three feet away, hunched over, his hands still gripping at his chest. He was dressed differently; not in the rich clothes of a Pharaoh, but in loose, black trousers and a white tank top that was quickly becoming transparent in the rain.

He was still wearing his elaborate, incredibly valuable jewellery, though, along with the kohl around his eyes. Bakura had to admit that he looked good like that, if pained.

He looked down at himself and scowled. His shenti had been replaced with black leather trousers and his sandals had become boots. Apparently the gods were more than happy to let him wander round in the skins of animals; clothing deemed too unclean for their precious Pharaoh. He was shirtless, still, and they had left his red woollen robe the same as it had been in Ancient Egypt, although considerably cleaner. He drew it round his chest for warmth, and turned back to the Pharaoh, who was looking at him curiously.

"You look different," the Pharaoh said.

Bakura, unsure if he should take it as a compliment or not, didn't reply.

"What are you going to do?" the Pharaoh asked.

Bakura shrugged. "No idea," he said. "Not like I have a home to go to."

The Pharaoh winced slightly, as if he was just realising that Bakura's return would be far less welcomed than his own. Silence hung over them for a moment.

"I thought you were destroyed with Zorc."

Bakura rolled his eyes. "I was possessed, moron," he snapped. "From the moment your dearest daddy ordered my entire village to be slaughtered." The Pharaoh winced again, but met Bakura's gaze fearlessly. Bakura felt his anger slowly drain away. He was tired, and he knew that he would need to find somewhere to sleep before darkness set in. "When Zorc was destroyed, I was freed from his power; weak and helpless, but free. When you made the decision to pass on, I was dragged along for the ride."

The Pharaoh nodded. "Good luck, Bakura," he said.

Bakura snorted. "Same to you, Your Highness," he said.

He turned and left, not wanting to watch as the Pharaoh skipped off to his happy little reunion with his other self. Besides, Bakura had other things to worry about than the Pharaoh getting home safely; things like food, shelter, and some way of getting a job that wouldn't piss off the gods or involve whoring himself out – though he had to admit that becoming a prostitute probably didn't fall under the category of "gainful employment", anyway.

He'd think his options over in the morning. First, he needed somewhere to sleep.


End file.
